Recovery
by DemonicxAngel
Summary: ' "Skye," he says, practically breathing down my back. Clay Jensen. I stop walking. He's so close, yet so far. ' Rated T for mentions of suicide/self mutilation. One-shot.


**Hi everyone,**

**I just finished reading TH1RTEEN R3ASONS WHY and it inspired me to write a fanfic on where the book left off, with Skye. I hope you enjoy it. **

**DISCLAIMER: All characters (and the dialogue from the bus ride) used in this fanfic belong to Jay Asher, author of TH1RTEEN R3ASONS WHY.**

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><p><span>Recovery +<span>

"Miss your stop, Clay?"

Clay Jensen, a boy I've known since middle school, jumps a bit in his bus seat.

I smirk when Clay removes his headphones and turns to face me. He obviously didn't expect someone to interrupt him from whatever he was listening to. And he most definitely did not expect me, Skye Miller, of all people to be talking to him.

"Hey Skye," he responds, dully. He doesn't seem to want to talk – which is totally fine, considering the fact that I didn't feel like talking either.

For a moment, I can't help but feel a little bit sad. Back in the eighth grade, he used to always look at me with eyes that expressed fondness and admiration – eyes that gave me the confidence and power I needed in order to endure the beginning of my collapsing world.

At the start of high school, we seemed to grow distant; Clay stopped giving off any signs of affection for me. This hurt me as I was beginning to develop feelings for him. That was enough for me to begin phase one of my transformation. I began to dress myself poorly; I no longer gave a damn as to what others thought of me. I was a shell of my former self – the bright, sociable, and cheerful Skye Miller.

"He'll stop if you ask him to," I gesture toward the bus driver, who appears to be driving around town aimlessly. Clay nods a bit in acknowledgement and then turns his head again to face the front. I pull on my loose, left sleeve; obscuring the scars that cover my left wrist. Scars formed from intentional cutting.

_Wounds may heal, given time, but scars will never fade_.

I adjust my head so that I'm facing the window of the bus. I stare at the outside world, yet I don't really _see_. Despite any colorful billboard advertisements we pass by, the world seems colorless to me.

"Where are you going?" Clay asks, his head is turned once more, and he searches my eyes for an answer. Honestly, I had no answer. The question was too general – there were multiple answers to it. Where was I going on this bus? Where was I going with my fake image and persona? And where the hell was I going with my life?

I smirk at him, trying to intimidate him; make him uncomfortable. It was a façade, really; a cover up for all of my unpleasant experiences, and life, in general. Clay shifts a bit, apparently in discomfort. I finally come up with an answer that would satisfy his question, in whichever way he meant to ask it, "I'm not going anywhere."

My words were true. Clay, again, seems to look for any hidden meaning in my words; studying my eyes. After a few seconds of this, he redirects his attention to the window; craning his neck to see if the bus has reached his destination.

"See you tomorrow," I say, a bit hopefully – hopefully because Clay might be the only person in the world who could prevent me from doing _it._ The S-word, as I liked to refer to it. Recently, thoughts of ending my life had become constant in my mind – my drunk and abusive father along with my uncaring and cold-hearted mother did not help for this matter.

"See you later," Clay says, unaware of all of the suffering I go through day after day. He hops off the bus and I lean my head against the window; watching, through nearly shut eyes, Clay, glancing back at me before the bus passes him by.

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><p>I made up my mind. Last night, when I returned to my house ("home" is an unfit term) from a long bus ride, I made the decision that would change my life forever. Well, <em>end<em> my life forever, rather.

I study every detail of the school with care, cautious not to miss out on anything. Today would be my last day here. Today, I would release my grip from the limp branch that begs to break from all the adversities that I have been put through.

And then I hear his voice. Hope blossoms in me – there was now a chance to turn back; to start fresh.

"Skye," he says, practically breathing down my back. Clay Jensen. I stop walking. He's so close, yet so far.

Without turning, I answer him, "Clay."

"Hey, I was wondering – could we maybe, you know, talk?"

I bite my lip and then slowly turn to face him, "Sorry, Clay. I'm already late for class. You'll only slow me down… further."

"It's important. Please," he gazes at me softly, yet with such intensity that I'm almost ready to give in and speak with him.

"I can't," I nearly stutter; Clay penetrates my now-weakly-guarded eyes. It's as if he has gained entry to my feelings; as if he has looked beyond the outer Skye Miller and into the abyss that is my soul.

"I know what you're going through," Clay says, empathizing with me. How would he, of all people, know what I'm going through?

"You don't know anything," I laugh bitterly, shielding the sadness that lies within my heart.

And then the unpredictable happens. Clay stares into my eyes with understanding, like he could relate to all the pain I've gone through and everything that I've lost. His eyes – they were filled with such extreme tenacity – like he actually wants to help me, even though he has no idea what's going on in my life.

He steps forward and embraces me. This time, I welcome him. This time, I won't push anyone away. This time, I'll have to trust him as my anchor to living.

My first instinct and automatic reaction is to return the embrace. I bury my face in Clay's shoulder, wetting his shirt with tears that I didn't know had begun forming. Sobs rack my body, though I make little, if any, noise.

"You're not alone anymore, Skye… You've got me," Clay whispered, not quite trying to push romantic boundaries, but rather providing me with the support that I needed so, so much. He continued, "I'll be there for you – this, I promise you."

It was at that moment that I realized that I wasn't the only one wiping away at tears.

And it was at that moment that I realized that Clay Jensen would be the one to guide me to the road of recovery. He was what I needed; he would be able to stitch up any open wounds that I had. He would be able to repair any damages in my life. I was prepared to tell him my story. Skye's story. And Clay would be there to listen.

_Thank you, Clay, for saving my life._

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading; please review, I'd really appreciate it. <strong>

**If you noticed any grammatical errors, please let me know; after all, I'm only an 8th grader. xD**

**Again, thank you for reading.**

**Have a good day,**

**Tina~**


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